Forgotten, Not Gone
by Fabella
Summary: It had been a few months since Ib and Mary had been to the gallery. Ib still doesn't remember, but Mary is on edge. Now they're back. / Takes place after 'Together Forever'. No romance, I can't write that. Chapters are short, but I plan on updating quickly. "Ib" & characters (c) Kouri.
1. Prologue

A/N: So I've played Ib a few times now, and love it to bits. But when I near the end I'm always so sad because I want everyone to be okay! Not just that, but I've always wondered what would happen after the game ends, especially in 'Promise of Reunion' (which I don't have any clue how to write) and 'Together Forever' so I decided to make my own sequel. (Where things turn out happy I promise I just have to figure out how.) Feel free to suggest/guess what happens. First Ib fanfiction as well so review gently/don't judge me.  
The prologue is kinda skippable, it takes place before the events of the game, so... yeah.

* * *

When she first came to be, Mary lived in little house. In the little house lived people like her, that always were the same. Some of these people smiled, some frowned, while some slept, or had even no face. Though their shapes did not change, they all left her eventually.

But there was one unlike all the others. He moved, and created all the unmoving things that kept Mary company, until they disappeared. He always came back though. With footsteps echoing through the little house, he would move and change. Especially in the beginning, there was nobody like him. It wouldn't be for a time until somebody else could move, and nobody could change things like him.

Sometimes, he would talk to Mary, and tell her secrets and stories. He told her about family, and friendship, and candies and love and that sometimes adults can be tricky. He called her Mary, and daughter, and to Mary he was father.

There was something off about his paint though. Whenever her father painted, whatever color he painted something it would stay, unless he painted it over. Over time his own colors began to fade to uglier whites and grays. His stories became the same, same, same thing again and again, over and over.  
One night like this he spilled his paints and fell asleep. In the morning he didn't wake up.

People like Mary's father came and carried him away. Probably to bed so he would feel better. Then they took Mary.

* * *

Mary wanted to experience all the things her father told her about. She wanted so badly to talk to the other people like him, but they wouldn't listen. All she had was crayons.

* * *

Mary lived in a big art gallery. One day, she would leave and live in a little house again. She worked hard with her crayons, and played with people like her. Things are already beginning to change though...

Mary met a girl not like her, and a man like her father. They talked to her. And she replied.

Mary lived in a little house with her father. Then she lived in an art museum with her crayons. Now she lives in a little house with a father and a mother and a girl like her.

And she is like them.


	2. I Know A Secret

In a big art gallery a person like all the others slept. At times, a little blue doll in a little pink dress would come and visit. She chattered loudly, but the person like her slept, and the women would make her go. They didn't listen to her either. Only she noticed, and only she knew, of the peculiarness.  
When nobody is around, all the works of Guertena could roam, or at least talk! But this person never, not once, ever. The little blue doll in the little pink dress chattered unceasingly to her apathetic companions about it. There was a reason, even if only she cared.

* * *

Ib stared out the car window, watching the clouds shape and reshape into various things. A fluffy white bunny-cloud obscured the late morning sun when she felt a tap at her shoulder. Mary, her sister smiled innocently. Her hand was still in the air between the sisters, when their mother, without turning her gaze away from the road, called, "Mary, is your seat belt still on!?" The blonde girl pouted.

"Yes, Mother!" Mary winked at Ib. Ib opened her mouth to respond, but closed it when Mary put her seat belt back on. "What are you doing, Ib?" She smiled again.

"I'm looking for shapes in the clouds. Like that bunny." Ib pointed at her bunny cloud, still retaining its bunny shape.

"That doesn't look like a bunny at all!" Mary giggled. "It looks more like... A big blob!"

"I think it's a bunny." Ib responded without looking away. If Mary didn't want to see the rabbit, then fine.

"Whatever. Are we almost there?" Mary turned forwards in her seat, towards her parents. Her father checked his watch.

"Soon. Remember how much fun we had at that art gallery?" He asked casually.

"Mmm. Ib got lost last time!" Mary recalled.

The girls' father smiled and glanced at his dark haired daughter. "Yes, she did, I remember. Ib is more responsible now though." At her father's mention of her name, Ib turned around. "But if we went again, then you could stay with her."

"Of course!" Mary cried. "But why does that even matter?" Her stomach knotted at the thought of the gallery. "And this is the wrong way!"

* * *

"Ib, Mary, why don't you two go look around for a bit?" Their mother suggested. "We'll catch up to you."

"Really?" Mary pressed. "Are you sure?" Ib grabbed her adopted sister's hand reassuringly. "O... kay..."

* * *

Deep in the catacombs of the Guertena Art Gallery, life flowed into the art. A painting drew breath. A doll hiccupped. Somewhere, somebody was laughing.


	3. The Blue and Orange Conspiracy

The lights flickered off and on. Mary shifted uncomfortably, while Ib examined a mural. "Iiiib." She whined. "Stop staring at the picture. Didn't you notice the lights just now? Ib?"

"..." Ib was observing the painting, titled 'Fabricated World', intently. It was a few seconds more until she responded, and her voice cracked when she did. "Sorry. I just thought for a second I-" She cut herself off, and blinked her wet eyes. "I don't know. We can go."

Ib however, had no control over whether they would go, and as much as she would deny it, neither did Mary. The latter led the former around a corner, only to stop so fast that both nearly fell. "They-they're..." Mary trailed.

"Everybody's gone." Ib finished.

"Yeah." Somebody coughed loudly, and Mary jumped nearly out of her skin. "Was that you!?" She demanded.

"I thought it was you." Mumbled Ib. The lights flickered again, and both girls startled, though for different reasons. "Do you hear that?" Whispered Ib. Mary shook her head, she saw something instead. Sloppy, orange letters scrawled across the floor.

**COME BACK**

"Let's find Dad and Mother." Mary stepped purposely over the writing. "There looking for us too." She knew it was a lie, that there was nobody to find, but still, she had to at least pretend.

**COME BACK**

She forced herself not to flinch this time, upon seeing the words.

**DID YOU  
FORGET ME?**

This time, Ib saw it too. "Mary, what..."

**THERE'S NO TURNING BACK**

Ib's bony hands dug into Mary's shoulder. One of them was trembling, but it was impossible to tell which. (It was Mary.)

**COME HERE**  
**IB**  
**MARY**

Mary bolted. "No. No no no no." She muttered. "NO! NO!"

**I REMEMBER YOU**

"Mary!" Ib shrieked. She tore off after her, "Don't leave me! Mary!" But the skinnier girl couldn't catch up. She ran until she couldn't breathe, then walked in the direction she thought (hoped) Mary went.

_WRONG WAY_

Neater letters wrote themselves out in front of Ib. "Wrong way to Mary?" She asked.

_THIS WAY  
IB_

* * *

A little blue doll scurried through the halls. Her friends wouldn't notice if she was gone only a moment. With a familiar spot in sight, she skidded to a halt. Then she cried out. Her painting was empty. Frantically up and down, she hopped, trying to get a better look at the painting, but it only confirmed it. Sad laughter, or happy sobs (is there a difference?) echoed down the hall. Time was up. The little blue doll retreated back home.

* * *

Mary leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. Emotions surged through her with every breath she drew in, and with every breath she drew out she tried to push them back down. _It wasn't supposed to be this way. _She thought. _Why is this happening? I did everything I was supposed to! _A bright yellow flower (a rose of course) caught her eye, lying on the polished floor. She picked it up, careful of the thorns, and examined it carefully. "Is this... real?" Gingerly, she plucked a petal. _"Loves me, loves me not..."_ Pain flared in Mary's left side. _Real. _Repeating the thought aloud, she didn't know whether to cry or laugh. "Real."

* * *

The people that lived in the paintings were changing. Nobody noticed at first. But a bride and groom had abandoned the altar. A black cat retreated into nowhere. A painting titled 'Couple' showed only half. The rules of the gallery were broken.


	4. Separation Anxiety

A/N: I realize these are short chapters, but it means I can update faster.

* * *

"Mary! ..." Repeated Ib down the corridors. She had long since been abandoned by the orange words. Ever since she had found a red rose residing in a vase, she had felt completely and utterly alone. It had occurred to her to replace the rose, but something about it felt to important to let go. Empty picture frames lined the hallways. Unsure what sort of meaning they held, Ib stopped to think. Out of seemingly nowhere, a dark, nightmarish hand reached towards her from a wall. Ib yelped in shock, and backed into the opposite wall. _"Avoid edges."_ Another hand reached out, this time making contact. The touch was icy. She screamed.

The walls became alive as arms burst through everywhere. Two locked together around her tiny waist, while several reached for her flailing legs. One snaked its way to Ib's hand, and grabbed for the rose. It yanked it out of her hand, and held it high above her head. A ruby petal floated towards the ground, and Ib recoiled, nauseous. _"You and the rose are..."_ Instantly, the mass of limbs overpowered her. Cold, transparent hands confined her in place. Only two were not holding her, of them, one held her rose, and the other fingered the petals delicately. Then, as if looking for something else, it started to peel the flower.

Each petal was removed carefully and purposefully, then met with a pause while Ib reacted. Pains began to start, in her head, then her chest. Still, something else hummed in her head- was it just her head? -as well. A memory's seal was splitting. Two petals remained on the rose. Her vision blurred. One petal. It went dark. The hand tossed the rose down in disgust.

A little blue doll caught a treasure.

* * *

Everything had changed!  
It was different, how? How did it change!? How?

Mary crossed her arms across herself. Her grip tightened and loosened, tightened and loosened, on the items she held in each hand. In one hand, her rose, healthy as ever after a vase, and a blue key she'd found beside it in the other. Since her escape, her memory was not what it used to be. The life of Ib's adopted sister, her new life, had its own memories, and the realer they seemed, the faker her old life became. Mary the portrait was fake, though, and Mary the girl was real! So Mary had, for the most part, allowed it to happen. Except for the day of her escape. For the sake of a friend-well, almost a friend-she could never forget that.

Regardless, the layout of the world had been altered. A headless mannequin normally resided here. Instead, three mannequin heads grouped together. Their eyes followed her in a way they never had before.

Where? Where!? Where, where, where?

Where was anything? Where was Ib? "Ib!?" Mary called tautly. "Where are you!?" She reached an unfamiliar door. "This key..." _*Click*_

Mary the portrait was exceedingly curious, and when she could, she explored every inch of the world. Though she doesn't remember every detail exactly, she knows enough that this is wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Mary the girl knows this is wrong.


	5. Blue and Blue

A/N: Somebody pointed out on another site that "Mary" was the last artwork Guertena made, but I played the game again and it said that it was 'thought to be one of the last', as 'art snobs' weren't sure when exactly it was painted.

* * *

Lights danced behind his eyes. Purpose lingered in his mind. For the first time in what must have been centuries, a sleeping person woke up. At first he considered going back to sleep, though his spine was stiff and his muscles sore-once he was awake, he was awake. Consciousness was a foreign concept at this point, and he felt almost giddy. One by one, he stretched his neglected parts, then stood. Suddenly, though, he couldn't help but miss his father. Immediately he was no longer giddy.

_His father, a man titled Weiss Guertena, had created him carefully and purposefully so many years ago. Every detail of him, "Forgotten Portrait", had been painstakingly planned and executed, from his coat to his smile, all but one. The artist had not planned on a portrait, or any work whatsoever, that could grieve. When Guertena died, it was neither pleasant, nor peaceful. He had been working at the time, where all the artwork could see, and collapsed, face down. Thick, red liquid oozed out from underneath and soaked his clothing. Strangers came, and methodically took everything from the house. Depressed, lost, lonely, "Forgotten Portrait" fell asleep._

Now there was no artist, no guests, nothing. The silence was unsettling. Even in his nightmares, there was always _something_ besides him. So he hummed. It was a childish, nursery rhyme type tune, but it was the only sort of song he knew. Feeling encouraged, he started to walk. He didn't know where he was headed, or what compelled him to head down the path he took, but he did.

_"Psst."_

He stopped humming.

_"Psst."_

"He-hello?"

_"Hey! You...! Garry!"_

"Who?"

_"You!" _Something poked the portrait-man in the leg.

"Gah!" He jumped, nearly trampling the thankfully-nimble creature at his feet. A blue, humanoid creature in a pink outfit glared at him. Its eyes were oversized and red, and made him feel nostalgic, though he doubt it was from the-the doll itself. "Sorry!" She had a gigantic grin stitched to her face, also red.

_"Whatcha doin'?" _The voice itself seemed to come from inside his head and not from the doll, and though that was normal for many of his siblings' to communicate in that manner, it still startled him. _"Can I come?"_

"Hmm, well I'm kind of lost right now. If you'd like to though, then you can come with me." He reached down, and picked up the little doll. Her black mane tickled his face and he giggled.

_"Oooh! Yay! Where should we go? I know where _everything_ is!" _She shrieked enthusiastically.

"Umm, any place with other people, I guess. It's pretty lonely over here."

_"You got it," _A little hand gesticulated wildly to the right. _"This way, Garry!"_

"Who's Garry?" Inquired "Forgotten Portrait". "They sound familiar, but I'm still kind of tired."

_"Oh? That's okay. It'll come to you, friend."_


	6. Maybe They're Just Lonely

_Running. Lots of running. Why is she running? Where is she? A headless creature follows in pursuit. Don't trip! Something beneath her feet tears, but she doesn't look back as runs through the door. Though she does feel bad for the little ant, so she tries to avoid it._

_More running. A woman in red, dragging herself through a picture frame, chasing her with a dead, hungry look in her eyes._

_Running again. Sore feet, fresh terror. Running from... Mary!?_

* * *

Ib's eyes snapped open. She sat up quickly, then regretted it immediately, feeling pain coming from all over. Much more carefully, she examined her surroundings; she seemed to be in the middle of an empty hallway, sans an empty picture frame. _Was that there before?_ The previous events came to mind and she shuddered. Equally fresh in her mind was her nightmare. Ever since seeing the Guertena exhibit the first time, Ib started to have nightmares about getting lost inside, and getting chased by the exhibits. This was the first time she could recall any of the details though. More alarming yet, was that now her nightmare was evidently coming to life. "Mary!" She cried in a sudden panic. "Mom! Dad! Mary!" Something moved out of the corner of her eye and she turned her head.

**Are you lost?**

Big painted letters read next to the picture frame.

**I can help you!**

Ib looked around. When she at last looked at the picture frame, she nearly had a heart attack. A big pink bunny with red eyes looked back at her. It blinked.

**What do you need?**

More words appeared, now below the painting.

**I have a present for you!**

The rabbit vanished, reappearing a second later, with something in its massive paws. It was Ib's rose.

**Somebody told me you needed this.**

The creature reached straight out of the frame. Ib held out her hands and nodded. The rose landed delicately in her hands. Warmth radiated through her, and though looking at it she knew it needed water, she already felt better.

**Tell Mary that "'Red Eyes' says hi"**

The rabbit winked at her, before retreating for good. Ib waved. For a split second, the rabbit seemed to have turned into something almost sinister looking, with a black mane and blue claws. No-it was never a rabbit. Memories of the incident months ago, the day that Ib 'got lost', came rushing back. "Mary..."

* * *

"I said GO AWAY!" Mary screeched. The mannequin and picture ladies around her froze, but only momentarily. A "Lady in Green" moaned, and reached towards Mary. She sidestepped around it, only to trip over a crying mannequin head. A "Lady in Yellow" grabbed at Mary's rose, and she realized that the creatures didn't care for her at all. No, they only wanted to see the last petal fall from her rose, just like... "No!" She screamed, and snatched her rose from the monsters' grasp. Silently wishing she had her palette knife again, Mary resumed running for her life.


	7. This Title is Creative

"Ib!" Mary found her standing disturbingly still, alone in a hallway. She was focused on an empty picture frame, her right hand raised in a frozen wave. "Ib! Oh, Ib I found you!" Ib didn't respond. "Come on, we have to find a way out!" Yelped Mary as she reached for the other girl. At the touch, Ib recoiled, much to her companion's surprise. "Ib? Is everything okay?" Dread began to gather in her real, genuine, non-fabricated heart. Her attention turned to the red petals and blood spotting the floor. "Your rose!" She gasped . "You need a vase!" This time, when she reached for Ib, she grabbed her sleeve and half led, half dragged her along. "What happened!?" She demanded.

"I'm fine. 'Red Eyes' says hi." Ib replied flatly, eyes focused Mary's free hand.

"Uh huh." _Where's a vase?_ She thought desperately, not registering the reply just yet. _There!_ In a small room to their left a vase of water placed perfectly on a perfectly positioned little table. "There! Water! ...Ib?"

Ib approached the vase carefully, eyes darting between it and Mary. Ever so slowly, she lowered her rose in. Petals sprouted in a tiny flash of light, and Ib sighed with relief. She removed her rose from the dry vase, and placed it in her pocket. The entire time, she watched Mary, like a rabbit-no, anything but a rabbit, a mouse maybe-watches a hawk. "'Red Eyes' says 'hi'." She repeated, voice wobbling.

"...Oh." The dread inside of her erupted into despair as everything clicked. "So you... remember?" She ventured.

"Some of it."

"How much?"

"Enough."

"Oh..." Her face started to feel hot, and she blinked furiously. "We still need to get out." She choked on the words, "I... I'm sorry."

"Why are we here now?" Ib asked suddenly. She paced to the nearest wall, and leaned against it.

"I don't know." Mary confessed. "I thought that it was over. But now, I don't know. Everything is so... different." She looked around. Even this room, which had never been here before, was a testament to that fact. It made it hard to believe that it had been really been only a few months since she'd left. Not only that, but the fact that her existence inside was being erased as much as it was created outside.

"Mary?" Ib said suddenly. That word broke her thoughts. The next words broke her heart. "If you became a person, does that mean that Garry became a painting, do you think?"

"I think-" She started, but found her words failing her. Guilt, dismay, and rage, at the fabricated world transformed into salty tears threatening to flood her face. "I think I'm wrong."


	8. Vagueness and Emotion

_"Almost there!" _Cheered the doll.

"Okay?" He laughed at her enthusiasm.

_"I have to go." _She informed the painting man. _"But first, this is yours!" _She presented him with a pretty blue rose. _"I made this for you."_

"Wait, where are you going?"

_"Somewhere else."_ The blue creature responded cryptically. _"But! If you just go through that door up there, it'll be fine." _Without waiting for a reply, she hopped out of the portrait's arms, and marched away, still holding the flower. Then, almost comically, she stopped, spun around, and stomped back. _"You have to take this." _She waved the flower back and forth.

"If you say so. What's it made of?" He asked. It looked real enough, but being blue, it was a complete giveaway that it was a fake.

_"I made it!" _The doll repeated stubbornly, with a hint of a annoyance in her voice. This time, she left and didn't return. (If "Forgotten Portrait" had been looking, he would have seen a larger version of his stuffed friend emerge from the wall and grab her, then disappear without a trace. He hadn't though.)

_Probably paper and paint._ Something about it felt horribly familiar. Shrugging the feeling off, he carried on. He reached for the door handle, twisted it, but the door seemed stuck closed...

* * *

Mary was a blubbering mess on the smooth tiled floor. Ib rubbed her back in tiny circular motions, shushing her quietly. "I don't hate you, Mary." She whispered lamely. She had explained everything she had known to Ib, from before the fateful day, up until now. That she had no idea how or what specifically drew people into the gallery, only that it had happened in the past, that she didn't even know the entrance or the exit, just that she needed to trade places with somebody else, and that she was sorry so sorry sorry and wouldn't be mad at Ib if she hated her she was just so sorry. "I can't hate you."

"But I-I'm..." Mary whimpered, then buried her face into Ib's shoulder. "I'm sorry." She sobbed, shaking with each breath. "I'm just so sorry!"

"Mary..." Ib sighed, then stood. Truthfully, she felt like joining Mary on the floor and crying her little eyes out, but that could only make things worse. She dragged Mary to her feet, then without missing a beat, hugged her as hard as a nine year old can. It seemed to work, as Mary's sobs reduced to sniffles and hiccups.

"Thank you, Ib." She squeezed her friend (yes, friend, definitely still) back. "Sorry about that." They parted, and Mary rubbed her palms against her eyes to wipe away her tears.

"Stop saying sorry, please." Ib pleaded.

"Sor-okay." She hiccuped. "What do we do now?"

"I think I have an idea." Ib motioned for the door. "Come on," When she tried to turn the handle, the door seemed jammed. She tried to twist it again, then realized that it was fine, but something was on the other side trying to open it. "Uh, we may have a problem, Mary." No longer trying to open the door, Ib held it closed instead. "Something's outside." Whatever it was, it was evidently stronger than Ib, and the door opened before anything else could be done.

Mary rushed forward, wishing again for her palette knife. Whatever it was, she was going to fight it. That was, until she saw 'it'.

"Garry!?"

* * *

A/N: 'Bout time they met up!


	9. These Things Happen

A/n: Sorry for the wait, I was working on other stuff, including a fic trade with somebody on another site, (crossovers are haaard sometimes D=) and some serious crap irl. (Any tips for shaking off stalkers from Feb. '13 that you can't report without breaking confidentiality laws?)

* * *

"Garry!?"

The name echoed off the pristine walls of the twisted gallery, and into the mind of the painting man. Between hearing it again today, and seeing the two people standing in front of him, something clicked. His name was Garry, and he was sent to this realm nearly a year ago. How he could have forgotten that, and the people that he'd met on the way, now standing in front of him, was yet to be determined, but for now he just stood still with his jaw hanging down.

"Garry?" Ib whispered. Oh-right, things didn't exactly pause while Garry got his memory-epiphany. "Is it really you?" Was it really him? How _could_ it be? The 'real' Garry died in the toy box, and... But how could he know that if he _was_ fake? Every torturous moment until that final painful breath, could that have been somebody else?

"I-Yeah, it's me." Then Ib was crushing him in one of her death-grip hugs, nearly knocking him over, and he decided to drop the subject with himself. A tiny hiccup sounded from nearby, and Garry was suddenly aware of the third person in the room.

"So..." She mumbled awkwardly, eyes focused everywhere but on him. "Are you angry?"

"Mary..." Ib glanced between her friends, suddenly tense.

"Well, yes. Yes and no." Garry held up his hands in surrender. "I mean, I don't know. You're not gonna... do it again though right?" (What kind of question is that?) Mary, chewing on her lip like an old crayon and _still _not looking at him, shook her head. "Then I'll try not to be angry." _After all,_ he thought,_ She only wanted to get out of here. Isn't that what we wanted too?_ "Mary..." Garry approached the child slowly, and crouched to her level. Ib followed, and squeezed Mary's shoulder encouragingly. _Then again, it looks like nobody made it out._ "Look at me, dear, please." If only for a moment, she focused her glassy on him, then immediately looked away again. He chalked that up to a win, for now.

"So..." Ib trailed. All eyes were suddenly on her. "I have something important to say." She stated matter-of-factly, before clearing her throat. "I think I know why we're back."

* * *

If this and the next chapter seem like shit, I apologize. I had to rewrite them about eight times because the files wouldn't save.


	10. Avoidance

Her eyes darted to Mary. "You said that the art can pull people in?"

"I think so. Everybody has a little influence here." Mary stole a glance at Garry. "I don't really know how people come in. They just do. But..."

"Wait-you don't think _I_ did this, do you?" Garry demanded. It had occurred to him that being part of the gallery could affect him-but _could_ he have done that?

"No, I don't think so." Oh. Ib continued. "I think that something else with more, um, power, over everything else here, like a leader, did it."

"But _why?_ And how do you know?" Mary pressed.

"Well because-" Because of Mary. Ib recalled her previous encounter with the ghastly edges. She was still in denial about everything that had happened, but later she realized that there had been somebody talking to her. They only uttered two words, and repeated them over and over, and when she didn't respond (well she didn't hear them) they took it out on her rose. Not that it was comforting, but at least she knew now why she wasn't killed then and there; they were asking her 'where's Mary'. If she died, then they would never find out. (She had no idea why they just dropped her and left, though.) This whole thing was because of Mary, but suddenly, how could she say that? "Of me?"

"What?" Her friends cried simultaneously. It wasn't a complete lie. If she hadn't let Mary get her rose, or if she remembered sooner and stayed with her parents...

"Not just anybody can enter the gallery world, right? So if somebody goes in, it has to be for a reason." She explained quickly. Then again, maybe that 'where's Mary' thing had nothing to do with it, like how 'Red Eyes' wanted to see her too. "But I didn't do anything, I left. So maybe I need to do something before we can leave." Maybe she could trade places with Garry, and live here. It couldn't be too bad. Then both of them could leave. Yeah, maybe that really was the reason.

"Ib." Garry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Is that really it?" He could tell she was lying, and crossed his arms across his chest. Mary did the same-considering that she still wouldn't look at Garry, it was almost funny.

"What is it really?" The blonde added with a frown, "Ib, this is important."

"But it could be." Ib offered lamely. When neither one was satisfied with her answer, she sighed. "I'm sorry. I really do think I know why."

"Then tell us!" Mary cried. "It's really important, okay?"

"...Okay. It's because of you, Mary.

"They want you."


	11. Step By Step

A/N: So, I have so explaining to do... This story was taken off its other sites because of 'plagiarism'. What plagiarism, you ask? Me; I plagiarised my own work. Great! I also lost stuff from my harddrive via virus thanks to a person I will not acknowledge the existence of. That includes the rest of this story, and all my notes on it. So I've been pretty apprehensive to write it again, after what's happened. I will though! I also am taking requests for other stories. I have the writing itch, just not so much for this story. Details will be on my profile.

* * *

Step, step, stomp, step, step. Step stomp, step step step. Huff puff, step step step. The sound of six feet on the polished floor-four stepping, two stomping-were all that could be heard. Nine years old and armed with a real body, Mary was ready to leave. She had done it once, she could do it again, and no jealous stupid ex-siblings of hers would stop her. She crushed the floor under her heels.

Ib and Garry followed behind, a little-less-than sure. After Ib's revelation (so to speak,) barely a word had been spoken.

_Mary's body stiffens, her face contorts into an unfamiliar expression. "You're right." She heads almost mechanically towards to door. "They are." Ib wants to tell her that she has a plan, too. But she can't bluff, and she can't speak, even if she tries. Even if she had anything useful to say. Her own name brings her out of her thoughts and Garry is giving her that worried look that adults do but Mary is leaving her behind again, so she points (because words are still escaping her) and both of them follow. No more words are exchanged as they step, step, stomp._

The trio entered a rectangular room. (Mary stood in the doorway, and the door nearly slammed in Ib's face, had Garry not blocked it. No sooner had he entered then it slammed shut behind him. Ib glanced between Garry and the door and he shrugged innocently.) It was covered in paintings across three of the four walls. That is-canvases. Most of them bore familiar names, but were empty. Tall bookcases, though not necessarily all full of books lined one short wall. Near the center of the room was diamond-shaped black bed. A plaque nearby it was smeared with blue paint, making it unreadable. There was no door, excepting the one from they came from.

On the farthest wall, a small painting was still intact. It depicted a cardboard box, sealed carefully, and lying next to it, a palette knife. A small clattering sound brought everybody's attention to its direction. The knife lay on the floor.


End file.
